


His Protector's Agony

by dragonwriter24cmf



Category: Trinity Blood
Genre: Angst, Chapter 63 Spoliers, Gen, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Torture, Virgil Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22164646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonwriter24cmf/pseuds/dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: Alessandro visits his protector in prison, and thinks about the differences in perception and reality, and the consequences of both. Based on the manga.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	His Protector's Agony

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters belong to the creators of Trinity Blood.

**His Protector's Agony**

His heart was pounding as the door shut behind him. Not from fear of the 'vampires', but rather from the stress of trying to act tough, to bluff the Inquisitor that had accompanied him. Never mind that the young man looked about his age, there was something a little frightening about his violent manner, the way he had seemed to anticipate and even enjoy the thought of violence. He'd been so worried, in spite of Brother Petros, that the young man would refuse to listen to him.

He didn't fear vampires, particularly. Even the ones who had scared him, like Vanessa, hadn't been that bad. Sister, and Sister Esther, had taught him that Methuselah were like any other people. Some were good, some were bad. Father Nightroad, a man he knew as Sister's right hand knight, had said the same. So far, he hadn't seen any evidence that the man who had taken him Underground was all that bad. And the little girl had been friendly, if quiet.

He moved further into the cell, his eyes adjusting to the lighting. Then everything came into focus, and his heart clenched painfully.

It was sad enough, seeing that gentle little girl tied to a chair, her cross at her throat, her head lolling in unconsciousness. But it was the other occupant of the cell that made his gut tighten and his eyes fill with tears. Virgil Walsh.

The Albion Methuselah had been secured to a thick stake, bound so that his body was suspended several inches off the ground. No less than six chains ran from the ceiling to coil around the slight frame. Two ran to the shackles that secured his wrists behind his back, pulled harshly into a position that looked uncomfortable at best. Two more twisted around his chest, shoulders and throat. The last two wound around his waist and lower arms.

In addition to those, his legs had been wrapped in a separate length of chain and secured to the floor. Shorter lengths fastened at his chest, his waist and his knees, to secure him more firmly to the stake to which he was bound. Blood stained his partially unbuttoned and torn shirt, dripped from a wound on his brow and a split lip. His hands, face, and what could be seen of his body bore bruises. His shirt and trousers prevented the torture of constant silver burns and poisoning, but it was a small mercy, at best.

He stopped a moment as the door closed, fighting to get his emotions under control.

He didn't remember being pulled from the river, after the madman had attacked him and Sister Esther. But he did remember waking in Virgil's arms, as the man carried him gently and carefully to safety. He knew Virgil had rescued him, and risked burning from the sun to do so. He knew what exposure to the sun did to Methuselah. And this man had risked it, for him.

Virgil had protected him. Had led him safely to Father Nightroad. Even after his own sister had poisoned him, hurt him, even after his home underground had been attacked, his people endangered, he had risked everything to protect him, and the young girl Angelica. For that, he had been wounded, beaten, knocked unconscious and imprisoned. For that, the 'crime' of approaching him, he had been interrogated. For saving and protecting him, the man now suffered such torment.

He moved closer, so he could stand face to face with the man. “Count of Manchester.” He was glad his voice was steady, for once, even if he had to work for it.

At the echo of his voice, Virgil stirred. A slight shifting of his shoulders, a muted groan, and then the man lifted his head. Blue eyes, partially obscured by dirty blond hair and blood, gazed at him. Then Virgil bent his head slightly. “Your Holiness.”

Virgil studied him a moment, then spoke softly. “What brings you here?”

He clenched his jaw. He had to do this. He knew the walls weren't soundproof, and if he didn't make some noise, his guards would get suspicious. They wouldn't hear him if he whispered, but he had to maintain appearances. So... “I came to talk to you. I have some questions for you.”

A flicker of disappointment, even pain, darted through the blue eyes. “I see. About?”

“Your involvement in the Underground. The reasons you took me there, why you did what you did.” He moved closer, hand slipping into his jacket for the first of the items he'd prepared, with the Professor's help. “Did you...intend to hand me over to the rebels the whole time?” He had trouble asking that, knowing the answer as he did.

“I...” Virgil winced, and Alessandro could see blood on his mouth. “Your Holiness...”

“I thought...when Esther said you saved us, I thought you were a friend. But your sister said you were trying to use us. I want to understand what's going on.” He stepped closer. “Answer me. I want to know what's going on, what your plans are.”

“I cannot tell you. If I told you I had no ill intentions, would you believe me?” Virgil's expression was still, but the pain in his eyes had deepened, edged with something that might have been anger, or betrayal. “If you, who were there and saw what transpired, believe such things....”

“I don't know what to believe, but you can't tell me you had no part in anything.” He stepped the final step, his boot hitting the pillar with a dull thud. His hand went behind Virgil's back, brushed the manacled wrists, and he slipped the folded wire into bloodied palm. “Take this.”

He saw Virgil's eyes widen. “What...”

He didn't dare let the man say too much. He cut him off. “You...the Albion leaders say you were planning to invade the Palace. Is that true?”

Virgil started. “Invade the Palace? Who...told you that? Why would we...?” He stared at him. “You yourself know I had access to the palace. Surely Sister Esther told you.”

“Even so, we found plans, in some of the abandoned rooms.” He pulled the second item, a folded piece of parchment, from his other pocket, shook it open, and held it up. “You recognize this?”

One of the few talents he had that he was proud of was his memory. More specifically, his ability to recall and reproduce anything he had seen. They'd given him a detailed tour of the palace, including the dungeons, and he'd used it to draw a map. The Professor had helped him outline three possible routes to safety. All three paths had been mapped out clearly. “You know what this is, don't you?”

Virgil's eyes widened, scanned the map. Then the smallest of smiles curled over the battered face. “I do know what this is, and it's purpose.”

He took that as a signal that Virgil had the information in his mind. He folded the map back and stuck it in his pocket. “So, you admit to planning something?”

Virgil bent his head. “I have many plans, Holiness. I have told you that I have no designs to harm the people of Albion, or your people. However, you must make up your own mind. Doubtless, your men will do so anyway, no matter what I say. And so...I fear there is nothing I can tell you.”

He nodded.

If he'd actually been interrogating this man, it would have been his cue to either get violent, or to walk away. But....he stared at the beaten man. He wanted to do something more, but didn't know what he wanted to do. What he could do.

Virgil met his eyes, then shook his head gently, a kind smile on his face, warmth in his eyes, even despite the pain that shadowed his face. It was an expression that spoke of forgiveness.

Tears filled his eyes, and the words slipped out in a broken whisper before he could stop them. “I'm sorry.”

Virgil blinked. “Holiness...”

“I'm sorry. You saved me. You protected me, even when your own sister...you tried to keep me safe. You should have gone to help your people, but instead...you were protecting me.” He swallowed hard, scrubbing the sleeve of his jacket over his eyes.

“That was my choice.” Virgil's voice was as soft as his own.

“I know but...it was the church that attacked you. And...this...this was all I could do. Even though I tried...things turned out like this.” He stared at the thick silver chains, the bruises, the dripping blood. “It...doesn't seem right. You....you saved me, and they...the Inquisition...they did this to you. They hurt you like this...tied you up....it's not right. So much happened to you...because you saved me. And I... I can't do anything...for you...or...or for anyone else...I can't...it's just not...”

“Do not distress yourself. I made my choice knowing the consequences. I know you did the best you could, and I thank you.” Virgil smiled again. “These wounds look worse than they are, Holiness. You need not concern yourself over much with my condition.” He paused, then spoke again, his voice gentle and sincere in a way that he'd only ever heard Father Nightroad and Sister Esther speak to him. “Truly...you managed to get myself and Angelica out of that alive. You saved us. For that I thank you. It was...more than I could have hoped for, to survive. That I have only endured so much as I have, I suspect is also your doing. I know well that we could be dead, or significantly worse off. That you have gone to the trouble you have...you have my gratitude.”

“I...but...” His hand reached out, stopping short of the silver chains. He feared to touch them, feared that any action on his part would hurt the man. Even with the cloth that protected him, that much silver in addition to his wounds was probably agonizing. “Even if...it could be worse...we still...you're suffering...the way they hurt you...”

“I will be all right, Holiness. And I do not blame you. Does not your god hold that we all have our crosses to bear?” He blinked, startled, and saw the gentle amusement in Virgil's eyes. “I have read your Bible. And I know well that, even if only a little, you have helped carry my cross. It is enough. Do not concern yourself with what I may suffer. If you must think on it, know that you have alleviated my suffering, and be comforted in that.”

He wanted to say more, but a muffled sneeze sounded outside the door, followed by the voice of the young Inquisitor. “Holiness...we need to leave soon. You must not risk catching cold, just for something like this. Please...we must go.”

He turned back to Virgil, torn. The Methuselah lord only shook his head. “Go, Holiness.”

In the face of such resolve, all he could do was nod. He and the lord shared one last glance, then he turned, squaring his shoulders and setting a look of sheepish frustration over his expression as he returned to the door and shoved it open.

_ Dear Lord...please protect him. Let him and Angelica escape safely, and get to somewhere where he'll be properly protected. He protected me, and now he is suffering for me, so please...protect him, and keep him safe, from everyone who would wish him further harm. Please don't let him suffer further agony for my sake. _

**Author's Note:**

> It should be noted that I wrote this on inspiration from the RAW chapter 63. I'm not really fluent in reading Japanese, so I had to guess at what the characters were saying. I know it's probably only minimally accurate. Even so, this begged to be written, and it wouldn't let me wait until the translations came out. So...that being said...I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
